Released
by fandomslight
Summary: You're a traitor, and I swear one day I'll kill you. -What happens if you succeed? {SaruMi ficlet. Rated M for language and certain themes. Warning:Character Death. Komi-tan doesn't own the characters or the anime. Follow up chapter soon}
1. Defeat

_You traitor! I'll fucking kill you!_

_'Well are you satisfied now?'_

—

It had been so loud, and now it was too quiet. The only sounds that could be heard within the space were that of quick heavy breathing, and short raspy breaths; each coming from a different person. Another sound was added—metal clanking to the ground as a sword was dropped from the hand of it's holder, red metallic liquid dripping from the tip and sides onto the pavement beneath it.

A boy in a beanie drops to his knees, hands shaking slightly as he desperately tries to catch his breath. He's in shambles, his breathing heavy, his body shaking, his mind completely confused. He's not sure how it happened, or even why it happened. He tries to replay the moment in his head, only for it all to be a blur. He remembers yelling and screaming and other loud sounds and then blood, but he remembers nothing else. All he does know is the moment went too quickly, and everything had happened before he even had the chance to think.

Now Fushimi lies on the ground, the short raspy breaths becoming fewer and farther in between.

He coughs, that same metallic liquid trailing down his lips and neck. He hates the color so much, that he wished it was more like the blue veins under his skin. It was ridiculous—of all the thoughts to be running through his muddled mind at the moment, the only thing he was thinking of was how much he hated red. His eyelids are heavy, and he lets the flutter shut. Instead, he'll only use his ears to pick up what's going on around him. He's too tired to move or look around. It takes almost all he can muster of his energy just to listen and not fall into slumber.

There's a slight shift on the ground, and Fushimi isn't entirely sure what it is, until he hears a thud at his side. That's when he understands it had been Misaki, fumbling to get up and come to his side.

"Open your damn eyes, fucking monkey." he says, although it sounds so close to a whimper. "You're not actually dying, so stop pretending that you are."

Saruhiko's head falls to the side, leaning towards the voice that was desperately calling out to him. Had it always been that muffled, or was that just another effect his current state was having on him? It was all he could do to comply with his ex-partner's wishes, forcing his eyes open, and using more energy to keep them open.

The look on Yata's face makes him feel guilty, because once again he had been the one to pick a fight. Overconfident that things would turn out just as they always had, neither of them had held back. So how could Fushimi have let his guard down so easily to be bested by his own sword. Talk about irony.

"You stab someone," he started between breaths, "and tell them that they're not dying. Where's your logic?" He's trying to make jokes, poking around at fun, just to lighten the mood; but he knows there's no possible way to do that. With the two of them alone and in a situation like this, happiness didn't even exist.

"Shut up." he hisses back, fumbling with his phone to contact someone for help. Izumo, Kamamoto, even Mikoto. Anyone who could help right now would be wonderful, but before he can do anything, Fushimi weakly slaps the phone out of his hands. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed again, reaching for the phone only to be stopped once again.

"I don't want their help."

Yata blinked in growing fury. "Then give me your damn PDA! I'll call one of the fucking Blues to help you!"

He shakes his head, and that only causes Yata's nervous fury to rise even more. "It's fine." he says, voice at a whisper now.

In all honesty, it wasn't fine. Fushimi was terrified of dying—not because of what might come after that, but knowing that this time, Yata would forget him for sure. He'd always fought for the vanguard's attention, picking fights, turning traitor, calling him out by his first name. All of Fushimi's actions brought Yata's full attention to him, and those thoughts would consume him. If he died, that would all be gone. Yata would forget him for good.

"It's not fine!" he screams back, and at this point he's choking back sobs. The lump in his throat swallows him up. This was his fault. How the hell did a Blue's sword wind up in his hand. How could Saru have been so stupid to not watch the grip he had on his own weapon. How did Yata take it so easily and plunge it—

"Misaki…?" he pants, wincing in pain as the gash in his chest continues to ooze red while his arms and legs go numb. His vision is going hazy, and he's fighting so hard to stay awake long enough for one more question to be answered. He'd have no regrets, hearing the goddamn truth for the first time in ages.

"Don't call me that, bastard." he mumbles, trying to prolong the time that he knows he doesn't have enough of.

Meanwhile, Saru ignores the comment and continues on. "Can I ask you something?" And before he gets permission he continues on, because time is that short. "Do you still hate me?"

And Misaki is stunned, wondering why that's coming up now of all times. It wasn't nearly that important! What was important was getting Saruhiko help, because no way in hell was he going to go and die on him now.

But time has run out. Fushimi's eyes have fluttered shut for the last time, his body going limp and his breathing slowing to a complete stop. The wound bleeds a bit more before cutting off, as the heart was no longer pumping. Yata screams out sentence after sentence, but it's no use, because the words no longer reach his brain.

He sits there in silence for what feels like an eternity. Then, slowly and carefully, he lifts the limp form into his arms, hugging it close to his own body. He shakes and cries, and blames himself, because he should have helped against his friend's wishes.

"Of course I still hate you." he cries out, finally answering Fushimi's last question. "You've left me alone twice now."

—*—*—*—

Time had passed, and the sun had begun to set. Not once had Yata moved since Saru's breathing had stopped hours before. He hated how cold the other was in his arms, as if his own body heat was never enough to keep the both of them warm. It started the tears again, his body shaking as he tried to hold it back.

Why the hell was he crying so hard like this? Hadn't he promised that he'd be the one to kill Fushimi? Now that the deed was done, shouldn't he feel satisfied with himself? Of course he should, but he didn't; because in all actuality, he never really wanted to kill anyone—well maybe except Totsuka's murderer, but that was beside the point. All the threats he had ever made towards Saru held no real meaning behind them. Now there was no resolve for them. Yata had done a permanent deed.

He couldn't let go—he didn't want to, not now, not ever. One hand fumbled around for his phone, the other continuing to hold Saruhiko close to him. When he retrieved the device, he immediately dialed the only place he could think of.

"Hello?"

After a long moment of silence, he cleared his throat and found his voice. "Kusanagi-san, it's me."

"Ah, Yata." He said, and the smile could practically be heard over the phone. "Haven't heard from you all day. What's going on?" When there wasn't an immediate answer, he spoke again, "Is there something wrong? Hello? Yata, you there?"

The thickness in his throat was returning, another lump coming back and threatening to release. "Can you send Kamamoto to pick me up?" he asked, voice cracking and betraying him, giving up any chances of remaining calm.

"Yata, what happened?" Izumo asked, voice showing obvious hints of worry. There were other voices in the background, he could hear them. His fellow clansmen, asking if everything was okay or if something had happened. Yata could hear a muttered 'I don't know, he hasn't told me anything' before the attention was turned back to him. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, although the act was pointless. "Where are you—never mind, we'll just track your phone. Kamamoto?" Yata heard the two address each other, though he didn't make out every little word, "We'll be there soon. Sit tight, and don't go doing anything stupid."

There was a click, followed by more silence. The buzz of a dropped call sounded, and he closed the phone, letting it fall back to the ground. Then another idea came to mind. He had to call one of the Blues—he just had to. After all, what was going to happen now? He patted down Fushimi's body, searching for his PDA. As soon as he found it, he started going through contacts, wondering who he should call. He lingered over one contact, anxious to actually dial.

Just then, the device rang for him. The caller? Exactly who he wanted to talk to.

He picked up the call, but remained silent over the receiver. "Fushimi?" a hard, deep voice spoke after the silence. "Report back immediately, there's something I need you to do for me, and you still have paperwork to take care of."

"Munakata Reisi." He was glad his voice had returned to normal, sounding steady and confident. Who knew how long it would last as soon as the King found out one of his subjects was gone.

"Hm?" A noise came from the other end of the line. This wasn't his third in command. This was—"Yatagarasu? What are you doing with my clansman's phone?"

"He's dead." He spit out, voice cracking again. Dammit, why was he being so weak!

There was a sound of rustling papers, and then a chair moving out of place. A click sounded on the phone and Misaki took it as a good enough signal that he'd be sending someone to check it out. Or maybe he'd come personally.

It wasn't too long before he heard the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. Before he knew it, Izumo and Kamamoto were at his side, faces hard as they took in the scene before them. Now it all made sense. This wasn't a pleasant sight—traitor or not, Fushimi had been one of them, and the loss had just as much of an impact.

Izumo reacted first, squatting down to the ground in front of the vanguard. "What happened?" He wanted to get the blank look off of Yata's face, and while questioning for details wasn't necessarily going to help ease the pain, he needed an assessment before figuring out what to do next. "Yata, I need you to explain what happened here."

There was the lump again. He took a deep breath, exhaling a shaky sigh before saying what he could remember. "It was like normal. He picked a fight and I got riled up. It was going the same as any other fight, but I got a hand on his sword and—" he cut himself off, the rest finishing itself. "The bastard didn't hold out on me."

There was a nod to show he understood, and Izumo placed a comforting hand on Yata's shoulder. His eyes glanced down, and then turned towards Kamamoto. Something else caught his glance—in the distance, two more blue uniforms could be seen approaching. "I talked to them." Yata reassured.

They took their damn time getting closer—Munakata and Awashima. As soon as they showed up, the King looked from Yata, to the bloodied sword still on the ground, to the dead form of his third in command. It was easy enough to piece the puzzle together, although how the actual events had occurred were, and would probably remain a mystery to him. "Honestly, what mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Fushimi." He said softly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He took a few steps closer and bent down to pick his comrade up in his arms. Misaki was reluctant to let go, but knew that he would have had to at some point. Fushimi was one of the Blues, after all, so of course Scepter 4 would take the body with them. "You've made quite the mess." Munakata addressed again, before turning on his heel and walking back the way he had come. Awashima remained quiet, giving each of them what looked to be a glance of pity; but even she was sad about the situation. It wasn't long before she excused herself, grabbed the abandoned saber, and left to follow behind her King.

Izumo and Kamamoto eventually got Yata to his feet, returning him to the bar. He was allowed to crash there for the night, using one of the only remaining spare rooms.

He avoided everyone for a while, going out of his way to avoid Mikoto the most. It just felt wrong, and Yata still blamed himself for everything that had happened. It took a while, but soon enough he started to go back to the same kid he was before. He'd crack jokes, pick fights, and have fun with his comrades. Never again would he take one for granted.

—*—*—*—

"I'm back." The vanguard cheered, waltzing into the bar, a smile on his face. Izumo grimaced at the mud he was tracking into his clean bar, but repressed the urges to complain about it. He cleared his throat, swallowing the nagging words. Setting down the towel and glass he was polishing, he moved to the other end of the bar to pat a box. "Someone dropped this off, said it was for you." He picked up right where he had left off, turning his back on Yata to give him some space.

Confused, he moved towards the apparent gift. The lid was loose, and there was a note attached to the top. It read:

_—You'd probably want this more than we do. Do what you wish with it._

There was no name, and the vanguard had no idea what it could be. "Who's it from?" he asked curious, only to get a mere shrug from Izumo. He wasn't giving anything up. Yata pulled the lid up off the box, and was surprised at the contents inside.

There were unsealed envelopes with letters inside, photo albums, and other miscellaneous items. It took a minute of sifting through the pile to realize who these all really belonged to. "Saru…" he said, practically a whisper. He quickly replaced the lid before releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He looked over the note again, noticing the small insignia that represented SCEPTER4. Picking up the box in his arms, he headed towards the exit. "I'm heading home early today."

"Be careful, Yata." Izumo said, never turning to face the vanguard again. He just sat behind the bar, polishing glasses. "Don't get too caught up."

* * *

(A/N): First [K] ficlet. Augh, these two give me way too many problems. The ideas I have that incorporate these two characters are endless. I really hope you enjoyed it! Comment, fave, review? I want honest criticism, thanks.

Edit: I've been told I should write a second chapter with some of the letters and other things that were in the box. I've taken it into heavy consideration, and a new chapter will probably be uploaded as soon as I type them out. Thank you EnergyStarElite for the suggestion.


	2. Resolute

**(A/N)**: Well here we go! Chapter two after a month of planning and figuring out just how to make this work out! I really wanted to have a letter or two (one written to Misaki and one written to Mikoto) but it would have been too out of character for Saruhiko, and anyone would trash a letter they never ended up sending. So you get a little extra~!. Hope you enjoy. Rate, review, comment, fav, whatever. Will be working on new projects from now on that hopefully won't take forever to be updated!

**Disclaimer**: If I owned K, no one would be dead.

* * *

That box had sat on Yata's counter for a week; untouched an unopened.

It was the same box that SCEPTER4 had sent to the HOMRA bar sometime after the death of Saruhiko Fushimi. It was the same box that Yata had been so anxious to search through once he had gotten home. It was the same box that held what was left of his old friend's personal belongings. When he had gotten home that day, opening the box and trying to sift through the items was hard. Tears easily formed in his eyes, and the lid had been set down again before he could look at any of the contents.

Every day he'd try again, but he was still unable to manage it. Yata did his best to keep a happy face around the HOMRA gang, but his mind was so preoccupied about the box, its contents, and its previous owner that he seemed to be in a daze half the time.

However, today would be the day. Yata would force himself to open and look through this damned box if it was the last thing he ever did on this planet. Once he'd gotten home from the bar, he moved towards his kitchen counter, grabbing the box and dragging it into the living room of his small apartment. The boy sat cross-legged, hands on his knees as he studied the object. This is how the routine usually went. He'd sit here with the box, stare at it, and open it up only to tear up, close it, and set it back on the counter.

This time would be different. He lifted the lid, tossing it to the side. If Yata wanted to get through this, he'd either have to suffer through some of the tears, or ignore the heavy feeling in his chest. The guilt of his actions still hadn't dissipated yet, and he was fairly certain it never would; but he wasn't about to let that hold him back.

He'd close his eyes, reach in, and grab something at random. It sounded like a good idea to him, so that's what he did. Taking a deep breath, Yata closed his eyes and reached a hand into the box. The first thing he touched was the first thing he grabbed and pulled out. Opening his eyes again, he looked at the back of an old photo. Swallowing down the lump, he turned it over to look at the image.

It was…him? Rather him and Saru in what looked to be the HOMRA bar. He wasn't sure what surprised him more. The fact that he himself was in the photo or that Saruhiko was in the photo. The Blue never let his photo be taken…_ever_. Whenever Totsuka had gone around filming memories, Saruhiko made sure to avoid the brunette at all times. Yata just always assumed he wasn't a photogenic person, but maybe there was more to it.

Point is, it was shocking to see a picture of both of them together, looking happy as ever—er, well Yata was happy, but Saru looked un-amused. Oh wait—he remembered this picture. He'd caught Saruhiko by surprise and forced him to stay in the shot. He smiled softly, the memory coming back slowly. That's what pictures were for, after all.

"_Saruhiko!"_

_The bluet grumbled, raising his head from its spot on the bar. He swirled around in his chair to stare at the boy that had called his name. He almost instantly regretted moving, because as soon as he saw Yata's proud grin and Totsuka with a camera, he wanted to bolt for the door. No—anything but having his picture taken. Everyone knew how much Fushimi hated being in front of the camera. The Red went out of his way to avoid Totsuka's "memory recordings". He hadn't been in any of them so far. "Misaki, what are you doing?"_

_The camera man decided it was okay to chime in. "Yata and I were going through some old videos and pictures, and you're in none of them, Fushimi-kun."_

"_That's why you're taking one right now, with me." Yata cut in, finishing the explanation. Seeing the dissatisfied look on Saruhiko's face only made him want to burst into laughter. He knew how much his friend hated it, but this was his punishment for being so cold and distant lately. It was like Saruhiko was pushing himself away from others, and Yata didn't want that. He wanted to be a family—him, Saruhiko, and the rest of HOMRA._

_Saruhiko grumbles, his head resting back down on Izumo's bar. "No." _

_But Misaki is obviously not taking that as a suitable answer, because he feels a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back around in his seat until he's facing Totsuka's camera again. A small glare directs itself at HOMRA's newest vanguard, but the boy acts as if there's no problem. Slinging an arm around Saruhiko's shoulder to make sure he doesn't leave, the boy smiles, looking towards the camera. Totsuka puts the device up to an open eye, focusing it until he's positive the picture will come out crystal clear. _

_There's a small click, followed by another and the camera spits out two squares. Carefully, the brunette places two digits on each side of the film, removing them with care before setting them on the bar's counter. "Give them a few minutes. They should show up eventually."_

_The vanguard is too excited to listen, removing his arm from around his friend's shoulder as he stares down the photos with a gaze so fierce that Saruhiko thinks they might set ablaze; though that'd be a great thing, seeing as how he never wanted his picture taken in the first place. Propping his elbow back up onto the bar, he rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, watching the photo squares as they develop. It's not even a minute or two later before he sees himself, sitting right beside Yata. There's a goofy look on his friend's face, while he looks slightly less amused._

"_Saru, you were supposed ta smile." Yata scolds, but looks happy nonetheless. He picks up one of the photos and hands it to the bluette, dorky smile still plastered on his face. "This one's for you." He said making sure it was forced into the other's hand before taking his own and stashing it somewhere safe._

He's stunned, frozen in place as the memory comes at him full force. Looking back into the box, he see's other loose pictures scattered about. It doesn't take long to sweep them all up, flipping through and staring at each one. Some of them don't even have Saruhiko in them, and it puzzles him as to why the Blue would have kept them. If he disliked HOMRA so much, what was the point in keeping pictures of the crew?

They're carefully set aside, and Yata repeats his process of picking a random object. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he reaches in and grabs the first thing his hand touches. It feels unfamiliar, and his brows knit together as he pulls it out of the box. Upon uncovering his eyes, he stares the object over until it clicks in his head. A bracelet? It's made of fake leather, and is rather barren—only two simple charms decorating the material.

It's strange, but something about the band seems familiar. He can't place his finger on it, and the longer he stares at it, the farther away the answer seems to get. It's going to drive him crazy, and he's just about to set it aside and forget about it when it suddenly comes to him.

That's right.

He quickly jumps up, disregarding the rest of the box's contents as he treks through his entire apartment. There's a sorting of all his drawers, most of their contents now emptied to the floor. He'd forgotten all about it—and now that he'd found one he was desperate to find the other. Of course, the last place he'd ever look would reveal the twin bracelet. Misaki looked them over, before carrying them both back into the other room. Sitting back in the middle of his mess of Saru's memorabilia, he fumbled with the similar bands, immediately trying to place his own on his wrist.

It was a tight fit, but the vanguard managed to wrap the band over his hand and onto his wrist. The two of them had gotten these bracelets back in middle school, as a sign of their friendship. Sure it sounded strange for two boys to do this, but it had meant a lot to them at the time; though it had been a waste in the end, as neither of them had actually worn them much afterwards. Now though, with the second pair missing an owner, it didn't feel right to not wear it.

Most of the other things in the box were items that Misaki didn't recognize; belongings of Saru's that might not have had much meaning. A lot of it looked like personal belongings he had forgotten about in his move from HOMRA to Scepter4. Replacing the other items back in the box, he cleaned up the space around him. What he'd dumped out in the other rooms could be cleaned up later, if he ever felt compelled to do so.

Right now, there's one thing he wants—or maybe needs—to do.

Grabbing the second bracelet, he makes for the door, dashing out into the hall. He has to turn back when he nears the stairs, forgetting to lock his door up. Once everything is situated, he exits his apartment building and heads for the one and only place that had popped into his head. Yata pulls his cellphone from his pocket, dialing the bar. It beeps for a few seconds before there's a click on the other end.

"Bar HOMRA."

"Kusanagi-san, it's me." Last time he'd called, it had been right after the Blue's death. Thinking about it stung, and the tone in his voice had gone from happy to sullen in moments.

The bar-owner seemed to easily pick up on the change in tone, "Ah, Yata-chan. Is everything alright?" He kept his voice cheery, if only for the sake of the vanguard.

"Yeah, everything's great." He replied back, picking up his attitude. "I'm not going to be coming back in today. I just wanted to let everyone know." Thing is, there was some unfinished business he had to take care of, and while it might not take too long, he might not have the spirits to be out and about once everything is over. He continues along the streets phone held up to his ear as Izumo reassures that everything will be alright. A few goodbyes and then the phone is replaced back in his pocket. He nabs his skateboard from its usual hiding place and kicks off, making a speedy getaway to his destination.

Scepter4 headquarters.

He hasn't been here since the last time he'd been on overnight arrest for getting too serious in a street fight. Saruhiko had gotten him out a day early, and Misaki had thanked him by calling him a traitor and arguing with the man. The boy groans, wishing he'd acted differently.

Leaving his skateboard at the entrance gates, he walks in, immediately feeling out of place. There are enemies everywhere, each of them giving him strange looks. Some of them are questioning, wondering what a Red is doing on their turf. Others are tossing hateful glances, knowing very well what he'd done to their superior. As if the guilt already eating at him wasn't enough—he didn't need the damn Blues trying to make him feel worse.

One of them stops him at the door, arm held up to keep Misaki from walking any further; and if he remembers correctly, his name was Akiyama. The weird hairstyle kind of set off reminders, and he was fairly certain he was correct. The Red didn't speak a word until a question had been directed his way.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, rather harshly at that.

Yata pushes the hand away, "I'm looking for your stupid King. I need to talk to him."

The Blue keeps a calm face, though it's clear that something's bothering him on the inside. "He's busy right now, dealing with rearranging formations." He snaps. Rearranging formations? Was it because…because their Third was gone? "You're not quite welcome—"

"Akiyama-kun. Is there a problem?"

They both turn at the sudden interruption, and Yata immediately recognizes the Lieutenant. Awashima Seri—the Heartless Woman as Izumo has called her countless times. He's not sure whether to be thankful or not for her interruption. "No ma'am." He replies, immediately at attention to his superior. "He wanted to see the Captain, and—"

Now it was Misaki's turn to cut in. "There's something I need to speak to him about." He looks serious, and makes sure to not look as uncomfortable as he feels. His hand clenches into a fist, bracelet snug inside his grasp. Awashima gives him a quick look up and down before sighing. She seems to understand, even if she doesn't really know the half of it. "I'll take you to his office. If he's busy, you'll need to leave."

"S—Sure." He mumbles, and follows behind the woman, leaving the subordinate behind in the dust. Yeah—it was okay to be thankful for her interruption. She'd gotten him into the building, and there was a chance to speak with the King.

They take turn after turn, and it seems like a strange puzzle or maze before they reach a large double-door. The Lieutenant knocks lightly on the door before clearing her throat. "It's Awashima. You have a guest."

There's no answer from the other side, but she takes that as permission enough to open the door and enter. She lets the vanguard follow in and pass her. The King looks up from the papers on his desk, and he's a little more than surprised to see a member of the Red clan standing in his office. "Awashima-kun. If you'll give us a moment." He says, and she takes her exit after a swift bow.

Once the door is shut, Yata feels trapped. Suddenly he regrets his decision of coming here, and wants out as soon as possible. No, he had something he needed to do, and dammit he was going to get it done. He could swallow his damn nerves and pride for five minutes to get a somewhat sophisticated conversation in with the man who'd taken time out of his work day to acknowledge Yata's visit.

"What brings you here?" He asks, getting straight to the point.

The vanguard looks down to the ground, bracelet clenched tightly in his hand. After a moment of breathing, he looks up to the King locking gazes. "I—I wanted to see him." He looks confident, though he's far from. "You brought him back here and, well…" he trails off, losing his train of thought. He'd just assumed they'd buried him somewhere, or created a grave or shrine. Anything, really. They wouldn't just dump him somewhere, would they?

The Blue King props his elbows onto his desk, chin resting in folded hands. His face has gone still and Yata's not sure how Munakata took this whole thing. It never really occurred to him whether or not the two were anything closer than comrades. Did they have a friendship too? "Just what business do you have with my former clansman?" he asks, posing yet another question.

"There's just something I need to do." Yata answers, and that's about as far as he's going to explain himself.

Munakata seems to be contemplating something, and it's a long moment before he stands from his chair, neatly ordering papers across his desk before he makes his way for the door. "Come with me." He says, opening the door and gesturing for the vanguard to exit. He complies, and they go back through the twists of the Scepter4 corridors until their back outside in the front courtyard. When they reach the entrance gates Yata irritation spikes, and he speaks up. "I thought you were gonna take me—"

"I will, but he's not here."

The ginger is slightly puzzled, but continues to follow along anyways. He plays with the bracelet on his wrist, before picking up his skateboard and trekking back towards the city. Not noticing that the King had suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, Yata bumped right into him, giving off a disgruntled apology afterwards.

He waves it off, pointing down a dirt path. "Follow the path and you'll come across a small gravesite." Pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he kept the hand covering his face. "You'll find him there." As if that were enough, he bid the boy farewell and started heading back to Scepter4's main building.

Before he could get too far away, though—"Munakata Reisi." He calls out, turned towards the dirt path. There was something he had never done. When the King turns to give him a questioning look, he simply mutters. "Thank you. For the box." After all, had it not been for that, he wouldn't be here now, with all the wonderful memories he had forgotten. The King acknowledges it, but says nothing in return, returning to his journey back to his office.

Now for the moment of truth. It's a long way down the dirt path, and the vanguard's slightly concerned that he's gotten himself lost. Either that or the King sent him to the wrong place. But soon enough, he sees the iron gate in the distance, and quickens his pace. The door is slightly ajar, leaving him enough room to slip in.

It's a fairly big site, and he starts going down row after row, looking for the headstone he wants to visit. He notices that a hefty majority hold Scepter titles on them, and he ponders whether this is a personal cemetery. Eventually he comes across the headstone he'd been searching for, body freezing upon seeing it. It's as if the tough wall he'd been building over the past few weeks had been blown to dust in a matter of seconds.

This was all real. Saruhiko was really dead.

Misaki just stands there for a moment, wrapped up in his thoughts. It's hard to stand here, and he's not sure he can manage it for long. "Saru," he speaks out, trying to raise his voice over a whisper. "I, uh—" This was weird—it was awkward. What was he supposed to do?

The vanguard sighs, seating himself in front of the grave. The bracelet is still in his hands, and he decides to start with that. "They sent me your stuff. I found this, along with a few other things." He laughs at himself, knowing he's not receiving an answer in return. "It's kind of stupid. We bought these things and never wore 'em." There's no smartass comment coming back his way, and his chest tightens. "It's a bit small, but it's not too late to start wearing 'em now, right?"

There's another sigh, and he begins to dig a small hole in the ground. Okay, so maybe it was rude to dig up another person's resting ground, but it's only for a quick moment. Just deep enough for him to bury the leather band in the ground and cover it back up. He doesn't want it blowing away in the wind.

Once that's done, he sits back. He feels a bit lighter, and he tilts his head back to look up into the sky. "I'm really sorry, Saru. I didn't want this to happen. I wanted—" Dammit. There goes the stinging in his eyes. He takes a moment to breathe deeply before forcing himself to continue. This needs to come off his chest. "I wanted to be friends again. I can't hate you, even now. I could never hate you."

There's a shiver that passes down his spine, the temperature beginning to drop as it gets later in the evening. He takes that as his cue to leave. With one last goodbye, he gets up, grabs his skateboard, and—once he's back on the main road—kicks off towards home.

And suddenly, he feels a lot lighter.

He glances down at the bracelet snug on his wrist, and smiles.


End file.
